


Black and Blue

by roboticonography



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, formal wear, meet the team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticonography/pseuds/roboticonography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Pepper attend a function with the rest of the Avengers. Steve practices his dancing skills. Tony not-so-secretly enjoys wearing a tux. Pepper feels like she's at superhero prom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally part of a larger piece called "Meet the Avengers," in which Pepper meets each of Tony's new teammates for the first time and observes interactions between the group as a whole. Each of the stories had a colour for a title ("Red," "Green," etc). 
> 
> I ended up scrapping most of the piece when the movie came out, because too many of the stories turned on plot points that didn't jive with how the film ended. But this one still works, and I'm about done tinkering with it. So here you go!

“Is that…?”

 

“Yep. You won’t find this event on the official White House calendar, though. Hey, guess what?”

 

Pepper tilts her head expectantly, exposing her ear for whatever confidence Tony is about to deliver. Instead of speaking, however, he brushes his lips against her neck, right at the hairline.

 

She swats him away, blushing. “Behave.”

 

“No one’s watching,” he points out.

 

And it’s true. No one points and stares at them, or tries to avoid staring; no one whispers behind their hands or peeks over their shoulders; no one tries to snap a surreptitious photo. Tony and Pepper are the least interesting people in the elegantly-appointed room by a very wide margin.

 

It’s an odd—but not unwelcome—feeling.

 

Tony’s teammates are working the room in their finery, as though it’s some sort of superhero prom. There’s a lot going on, too much to take in all at once, and Pepper wishes she could just freeze-frame the action around her, commit every tiny detail to memory.

 

Aside from Thor, who appears to be dressed in some kind of shiny, heavy Asgardian regalia, the male Avengers are all sporting black tie. Pepper is irrationally proud of the fact that Tony carries it off better than anyone else, cutting a devastating figure in his midnight-blue Brioni. He once told Pepper, many years ago, that he relished any chance to put on traditional formal wear because it made him feel like James Bond. Pepper is interested to see how the actual spies measure up, and scans the crowd until she spots them.

 

Clint is a bit of a let-down; he’s opted to dress down his tuxedo with a straight necktie and some truly unfortunate shoes, and he looks as if he could stand to shave. He has a drink in each hand, and appears attentive to his surroundings, if slightly bored.

 

Natasha, on the other hand, has risen to the occasion beautifully: she’s wearing a shimmering gold dress with a plunging neckline, so artfully constructed that Pepper can’t make out any seams or openings, and a pair of strappy sandals, black with a contrasting gold heel (Sergio Rossi, unless Pepper is mistaken, which she almost never is when it comes to shoes). Her makeup is simple and understated—the fresh face of an ingenue—and her brassy curls are molded into an elegant finger-wave. She, like Clint, doesn’t try to hide her lack of interest in the proceedings; or maybe, Pepper thinks, the boredom is just another of their many masks.

 

The only time Natasha seems anything other than bored is when she’s on the dance floor. Perhaps not surprisingly, she is a gifted dancer: graceful, poised, precise. Pepper vaguely remembers something about classical ballet on Natalie Rushman’s curriculum vitae. The CV would have been a plant, of course, but it doesn’t seem likely that she would have included a detail like that if she didn’t have the skills to back it up.

 

Natasha’s current dance partner is a broad-shouldered blond. He’s clean-cut, matinee-idol handsome, and at least a head taller than most of the people in the room; he peers out over the dance floor, looking slightly lost. He’s wearing an immaculate white dinner jacket, a blazing beacon in the sea of black surrounding them. Natasha appears to be leading the dance.

 

Pepper watches them for a moment before squeezing Tony’s arm to get his attention. The muscles are like granite under the fine wool. “Are you _flexing_?” she whispers.

 

“No way. What?” He gives a little grunt of effort. “ _So_ offended by that.”

 

She laughs. “Stop.”

 

He draws his forearm in towards his chest and makes a fist. “Ask me which way to the buffet. I dare you.”

 

She locks her arm more tightly through his, bumps him with her hip. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

 

“You say that, but _I’m_ not the one drooling over Captain Underpants. Talk about rude.”

 

“I was trying to figure out how Natasha got into that dress.”

 

“Baby powder,” says Tony, far too authoritatively.

 

Just for that, Pepper says, “Introduce me to Captain America.”

 

Tony looks at her askance. “No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because then we’re stuck _talking_ to him.”

 

“Are you worried he’s going to sweep me off my feet?” inquires Pepper, elbowing him playfully.

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “The guy has all the charisma of a drywall sandwich. If that’s what you’re into, then by all means.”

 

“He’s a national treasure.”

 

“So’s the Jefferson Memorial, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend all night listening to it complain about how terrible today’s music is.”

 

“He’s a _superhero_.”

 

“So am I.”

 

“It loses its mystique,” she retorts. “Please?”

 

“Fine,” he says, with a loud, put-upon sigh.

 

Which is how it comes to pass that Pepper ends up dancing with Captain Steve Rogers.

 

He holds her very politely, the space between them appropriate but not unfriendly, his hand never straying from the centre of her back. His body is approximately the size and density of a house, but he’s fast, surprisingly light on his feet. He leads her in a solemn box step, their paces measured in a way that makes her suspect he is counting in his head.

 

Over his shoulder, she spots Natasha and Clint carving circles around the dance floor, executing a complex tango with the ease of long familiarity.

 

Pepper can see why Tony doesn’t enjoy talking to Steve; he doesn’t seem to have a lot of interest in technology beyond the basics, and he isn’t really in tune with the aspects of popular culture that Tony finds most appealing. He’s also (beneath a wry sense of humour and an understandable amount of bravado) one of the most sincere people Pepper has ever met: he says exactly what he means, and he means exactly what he says. Sincerity makes Tony uncomfortable.

 

Their conversation is a little stilted at first, but Steve brightens when she mentions having minored in art history at Stanford; he asks her about a recent exhibit opening she and Tony attended at the Met, and suddenly they have left small talk behind and are having an actual conversation.

 

His grip relaxes, and it seems he’s forgotten to count because suddenly there’s a crushing weight pressing down on her open-toed sandal. She cries out before she can stop herself, jerking her foot away. Steve freezes.

 

“Sorry,” says Pepper automatically, blinking away tears of pain.

 

“Definitely my fault,” Steve asserts, and actually drops to the floor to assess the damage. Around them, people are slowing down to rubberneck the scene of the accident. “Sorry. Can you lift your foot?”

 

“It’s not that bad,” Pepper lies, embarrassed on his behalf. “Really.”

 

He deftly unclasps the tiny strap of her sandal, slipping it off her foot. Pepper shifts her weight, one hand on Steve’s shoulder for balance. Her toes are red, swollen, and pulsing angrily.

 

Natasha and Clint move into their orbit, and Natasha glances over at Pepper and purses her lips in silent sympathy.

 

“Can you move your toes for me?” Steve is asking, cradling her bare foot in both hands. She does, wincing. A small crowd is gathering around them on the dance floor; Pepper thinks she hears a cameraphone go off.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” she asserts desperately.

 

“Don’t you think it’s a little soon to propose?” drawls Tony from somewhere behind her, sounding amused and moderately drunk.

 

Steve sighs heavily. To Pepper, he says, “It doesn’t look broken, do you—”

 

“What the actual fuck, Rogers?!” says Tony loudly, pitching up beside her with a half-full martini glass in his hand.

 

“Shh,” says Pepper, wrapping her arm around Tony’s waist to steady herself. “Let’s all stop fussing, okay? We’re all fine. Everyone’s fine.” Seeing Tony open his mouth to speak again, she adds, “Please do not make a scene.”

 

Tony looks patently unimpressed, but—mercifully—refrains from comment.

 

She holds out her foot, and Steve carefully slides the shoe back on. “It was nice to meet you,” she tells him, and gives his shoulder a sympathetic pat.

 

He stands up, smiling sheepishly. “You too.”

 

Then Pepper shuffles off the dance floor with Tony’s assistance, resisting his attempts to pick her up and carry her.

 

Once she’s comfortably seated, and a towel full of ice has been procured from the bar, Tony gently lifts the injured foot into his lap and settles the ice around it. He makes a cringeworthy joke about sexy nurses, and massages her calf in a way that’s borderline inappropriate, given the public setting, but Pepper just pats his hand affectionately and says, “Thank you.”

 

“This is why you should only dance with me.”

 

“Yes,” she says sweetly, “the worst that happens _then_ is that you might leave to get me a drink and never come back.”

 

“Steve’s birthday is coming up,” Tony informs her, ignoring the jab. “July fourth.”

 

Pepper smiles, because of _course_ it is.

 

Smirking, Tony adds, “We should get him dance lessons.”

 

Across the room, Natasha has coaxed Steve back out onto the floor for another round, her candlelight dress flickering and gleaming. Natasha is still leading, but Steve appears to be catching on. As he slides his hand around her waist, she lifts up on her toes and says something that makes him blush.

 

“Maybe just some fireworks,” Pepper suggests.


End file.
